


Name of a God

by The_Iron_Wolf_of_Winterfell



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, also i can't believe that gaul doesn't have a tag, also revealing france's first name since it was a big deal in the gaulish tribes, basically it's portraying young france on his gaulish times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 02:52:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12333984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Iron_Wolf_of_Winterfell/pseuds/The_Iron_Wolf_of_Winterfell
Summary: How a young child of the wild that later would be known as France earned his first name





	Name of a God

**Author's Note:**

> I’m being extremely self indulgent with this one shot, my sole purpose is to fill the gap of fics concerning France and his gaulish times and adding his mother to the party because why not? It’s not like this fandom is swarming with fics featuring Gaul so might as well contribute to her tag.
> 
> I wrote this in a way that would resemble a circle so part I can be read in first place or last, you decide. 
> 
> As usual please keep in mind that english is not my first language but nontheless I would appreciate reblogs and reviews since I had a hell of a job with this one. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it.

I

 

The forest is old and in it echoes the terrible voices of the Gods.

The forest is old, its ancient crooked bones painted in dark grow everywhere.   
Rough strong bones connected to the Earth as if the Gods are preventing them from escaping.

The forest is old, its ground is a mortal coil.   
It thrists for blood, it demands it. The wrath of the Gods must be appeased. If it was not the blood of their children, voluntarily sacrified to them, it would be the blood of their enemies.

The forest is old, there are no place for invaders there.   
Sacrilege, blasphemy, the voices of the Gods cried for justice. Cried for their blood. Cried for their last breath. There on the primordial forest.  
Their eagle lies now dead on the ground as well as the bodies of those who carried it.

The forest is old, it finally saw their youngest kin honoring their name that was given upon him.  
The King of Battle at last had its hands bathed in precious red with a scent that made his stomach curl. A scent of Victory, a scent of Death.  
The King of Battle, Gaul’s child, the pretty feral youngling adored and despised his own name.  
Caturix imposed a bloodthirst desire for war and he despised battling.  
Caturix imposed the promise for glory and he thrived on that feeling.

The forest is old, the sweet boy dropped his weapon at last and touched the ground, offering to the Gods the soul and blood that he had just ripped.   
His first one. And the Gods accepted his offering.  
He learnt that if he wanted to survive he would have to fully embrace his name.  
Fight so that he would never have to fight again. And then live the rest of his days in glorious, eternal peace.

The forest is old and so shall be the King of Battle one day.   
As immortal as his homonymous Hero-God.

 

II

The council had eyes that were not theirs.  
They were allowed to see what the Gods saw and thus advice their tribes about their designs.

The sky last night had been merciless with their message, it carried grave news, they scurried immediately to warn their lady Gaul.

“Your young ruler sleeps my wise lords.” the woman said lowly but firmly, observing her son resting peacefully on his bed, so unaware of the dangers of world yet “Did the Gods sent any message?”

She turned around to face them, the warrior woman whom even the bravest warrior learnt to respect. For she was Isara, the fair. Gaul herself. The one Vercingetorix, winner of a thousand battles, respected and vowed to serve.

“The Golden Eagle is upon us again. The Gods were clear, they march to the Sacred Forest. They are breaking the bargain.”

“Then we shall have no mercy with them.”

“He must come too.” one of the elders spoke, looking upon the sleeping boy, too enthralled on his dreamworld to wake up “He must earn his name at last.”

Gaul shivered unconsciously with the thought. A mother’s fear possessed her, for her sweet, darling boy at last had to go to war despite her best efforts to keep him safe and near her. But she knew that the time would come and the name that she chose to her child would mark his destiny.

“Wake up….” Isara whispered to wake her child.

“Mother?…”

She smiled bitterly, oh how it pained her to send him away.

“The Gods have called for you in this upcoming battle. Come, we shall gather the army and you shall march with them at last.”

The battle awaited for its long awaited king.

 

III

 

Hidden amongst the vegetation, the young boy waited, his heart in an expectant agony.  
He was far now from his village where he would play games with his friends and listen to the lessons of the old Druid.  
The Gods had called for him, the battle was upon him.

At the distance he started to hear the careless footsteps of people and, shimmering on the dim sunlight, a golden eagle.  
He could not take the eyes off of it. It shone enticingly, promising riches and glory. It shone disgustingly, it was a symbol of a fake God that those men worshipped beyond the mountains to the south.

“Rome is defying us.”, said a voice next to him, raging.

The chant began. Terrible and imposing, it terrified him to his very core even though the pronounced words had a simple meaning and not threatening at all.

The hoarse voice of the man next to him had a primal fury and power in it, meant to rouse any heart.

He remembered those words, he could distinctly recall his mother’s voice singing it late at night to lull him to sleep.  
Her voice in his memory blended with the terrible chant.

Then his name resounded through the trees, through the air, the eagle trembled and stopped in its tracks.

His name was a hero’s name, meaning ’King of Battle’.  
His people sang the Hero-God’s to summon his presence and power but at the same time they also claimed for him, the son of Gaul.

Above us, beneath us, amongst us.

Yes he was Caturix indeed. The Hero-God and son of Gaul. He would earn his name, as it was the source of all his might.

The chant did its job, his little valiant heart and soul were flaming, his name being chanted furiously through the forest. His tribe’s voice, the Gods’ voice, his own voice who had such unknown strength and wilderness in it.

A yell fit for a God was released from his mouth and the King of Battle claimed his crown.


End file.
